Violin Strings
by carinims01
Summary: Five times John saved Sherlock... and one time Sherlock saved John. Rated T. No slash.


Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.

Surprise! New story! And this one's for Sherlock. I've never written a Sherlock fanfiction before, so please bear with me. Basically, this started because I began writing a Five Times story for the A-Team, and since I've always wanted to try writing for Sherlock, I decided I'd do a Five Times. Any mistakes you find are my own as this wasn't beta'd by someone else. ;) Also, I promised a friend that I would write a story for her, so this entire thing is dedicated to my best friend Bre, who has helped me through so much. :D

Enjoy:

* * *

**Chapter 1: Silver Bullet**

* * *

Water splashed on the black pavement as John's boot crashed into a deep puddle. The very air still smelled of rain, and the doctor knew that it would rain again later and thicken the fog they already had. Hopefully, by then, he'd be safe in his flat with a warm cup of tea in his hands, and Sherlock will be perched in his chair, eagerly waiting to find out if Joseph was the father of Sarah's child. As long as it kept the hyperactive detective busy, giving John at least an hour of peace, he was glad to have introduced Sherlock to soap operas.

"John! Hurry up!" the detective shouted. His thick curls shined silver in the darkness and bounced with his every step; his beloved coat billowed out behind him as he ran.

The doctor rolled his eyes, panting as he dug his heels into the pavement. "I'm right behind you, you dolt!" Sherlock didn't answer, but in his mind's eye, John could see a small grin pulling at his full lips. "Idiot," he muttered under his breath.

About twenty yards in front of them, the thief turned alleged murderer that Sherlock had tactlessly exposed in the middle of large crowd turned the corner sharply. There was only a faint outline of the man; the rest of him was cast in deep shadow due to lack of light in the wide alleyway. Sherlock barely slowed as he rounded the building; John, however, grabbed the brick to help him turn, scraping his palm on the rough stone.

When the doctor turned the corner, he saw that Sherlock had stopped altogether. His chest heaved with his breaths, and John briefly wondered how his friend could sprint in a thick coat with a long scarf tied around his neck. It was a wonder, really, that the man didn't overheat.

The guy they were chasing had seemingly disappeared, but still, the detective had his eyes narrowed as he peered into the complete blackness of the alleyway.

"Sherlock—"

_ "Shh."_

John's brow furrowed, and his lips thinned into a frown as he glanced between the shadows and the detective. Suddenly, there was a silver glint towards the other end of the alley. It could have been anything, really, but John had been a soldier and a doctor for too long not to recognize the muzzle of a handgun.

A handgun that was pointed at his friend.

_"Sherlock!"_

The doctor crashed into his friend, slamming him into the adjacent wall as the silver bullet whizzed past them, embedding itself into the building behind them; bits of brick flew around them, and red dust rushed around the area. John narrowed his eyes down the alleyway, and only when he was sure that the shooter was gone did he take a few steps away from his friend, coughing.

Sherlock's eyes were wide, though the fear that the doctor was so used to seeing on young soldiers was absent. Instead, excitement brightened his blue eyes, and a broad smile covered his face.

"Brilliant! Absolutely _brilliant!" _

John whipped around, his breaths coming in short pants as his eyes widened. "Are you mad?" he barked. "Sherlock, that man was _shooting_ at us!"

The detective smirked, running his hand through his dark locks before he brushed some red dust from his jacket. _"Exactly._ Don't you _see? _The fact that he shot at us proves that he's willing to kill, though what would motivate him to do so is still unknown. Besides that, we can find the bullet he shot and see if it matches the one George found."

_ "Greg." _

"Whatever."

"He could have killed us!"

Sherlock shook his head, looking as casual as if Ms. Hudson had told him his tea was ready. "John, please, do you really think that an amateur shooter would find his mark on his first shot? Besides that, he has adrenaline rushing through his system, which would have made his hand shaky, therefore weakening his aim—"

"Sherlock, can we just go_ home?" _

"Not yet," the detective smiled. "We have to find that bullet."

* * *

Okay, so I really, really, really hope that I stayed in character. If you guys have any ideas towards further chapters, please feel free to share. I only have a few ideas. That said, updates will be skittish. Sorry, guys, but I'd rather my chapters be well thought out than be rushed to update. :) Anyway, have a good night! Thank you all for reading!


End file.
